A______ and I discover that Aaron Swartz's parents have moved out of their house in MA and are selling it. They have kept Swartz's childhood bedroom intact, though, so that it can be transferred wholesale into a computing history museum.

We decide to make a spiritual pilgrimage to Swartz's home to see his bedroom in its original state before it is moved.

We drive hours to MA and, in the middle of the night, park behind the large 3 story house and (as non-invasively as possible) break in. The house is very empty and ready to move on the lower two floors; on the top floor, however, we find Swartz's childhood bedroom.

The first thing we do is attempt to determine if the rumours of a hidden wall compartment behind an unfinished wall-mounted Go board are true. We deduce that there is no such apartment, and the board works via magnetic Go pieces that are attracted to the back of a great big metal shelving unit on the other side of the wall (not via a device hidden in the wall).

His bedroom is full of books, gadgets, and ephemera. A______ suggests I take a book--just one--as a holy artifact. I agree and begin to hunt through the shelves but nothing seems right.

I hunt and hunt and leaf through many books and get increasingly anxious about being caught. Finally, a wall of posters and postcards catches my eye; there is a postcard with a picture of a gothic castle in black and white with small crows drawn in with heavy black ink. Text at the bottom reads: The beauty of poetry lies in the prosaic.

For obvious reasons, I take this as my artifact and slip it into my bag. We sneak out and drive hours back home to A_____.